


Fool Me Twice

by calamityera



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 13:09:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3530588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calamityera/pseuds/calamityera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a fill for a prompt.  Dorian wonders if Trevelyan will deliver on the promises he made after their first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fool Me Twice

He wasn’t _avoiding_ Trevelyan, precisely. It’s just that every time he tried to talk about what happened between them, the words didn’t come out right. He’d want to ask, ‘Was that as real for you as it was for me?’ and instead divert to inane commentary about the weather or the furniture. ‘Do you have a moment? Or perhaps all night?’ became ‘Ah, now I’ve gone and forgotten what it was I wanted to ask you.’

As if Dorian Pavus ever _forgot_ anything.

And of course, it only got worse each day the Inquisitor didn’t reach out. Maker take him if he would pine and mope over anyone - even if it was the Herald of blighted Andraste. His moods began to vacillate wildly. Part of him wanted nothing more than to storm up to Trevelyan and demand an explanation. ‘I don’t know why I expected anything but lies from a pampered noble like you,’ he would imagine saying, sneering. ‘I’ve had plenty of... encounters... with your kind,’ he’d add, twisting the knife further, a reminder that Trevelyan certainly wasn’t the first to disappoint him. Or share his bed.

Alternatively, some days the melancholy was so strong that packing up, departing Skyhold, leaving the Inquisition and going back to Tevinter to play fucking pretend for the rest of his life seemed a viable option. When that particular thought took root he would head straight for the tavern. He’d order a bottle of wine and work through it with determination, glass by glass, until the alcohol sufficiently eroded his capacity for thinking.

Most days, however, he kept a tenuous grip on his dignity. He kept himself busy so that the intrusive thoughts couldn’t creep up his spine and wheedle into his mind. He was perfectly professional and courteous to the Inquisitor - well, as courteous as anyone can be while wandering the wilds and slaughtering strangers. And even through all of this the tiny of flicker of hope, hope for _more_ , fluttered weakly in his heart. Every time he let his gaze wander over the Inquisitor it protested a bit more strongly.

Even handsome, powerful and talented men have their flaws.

\-----------

Two weeks have passed, and Dorian has basically given up. A couple of smiles and lingering hands on shoulders does not ‘more’ make. To that end, he settles himself in the tavern with a rather large glass of brandy and a mind for oblivion.

Initially, he tries to start his sulk in the library, but then decides it looks worse if he is alone. At least here he can pretend he is being social. Even if, you know, he is pointedly _not_ speaking to anyone.

He takes his first sip of brandy, giving a soft sigh of appreciation at the burn spreading down his throat and through his limbs. Someone taps him on the shoulder and he turns, fully intending to tell the intruding party to kindly piss off. When Dorian sees that it is the Inquisitor, all red hair and crooked smile, he feels lightheaded. He doubts the brandy is responsible so early.

“I thought I might find you here,” the Inquisitor says with a grin, sitting down on the bench beside Dorian. Dorian is painfully and immediately aware of two things: how the Inquisitor has the entire side of his body pressed against him, and how incredibly public a place this is.

“Lord Trevelyan, what a pleasure. I’m shocked at your powers of deduction,” Dorian replies with a wry smile. He takes another sip of his drink, this time in an attempt to steady his nerves.

“Hah! I suppose it wasn’t that much of a guess, was it?” The Inquisitor pauses, staring into the unknown contents of his own mug before taking a long swallow. He catches the mage’s gaze. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”

Dorian’s stomach drops to his feet. Here it is, the moment he has been playing out over and over again in his mind. The ‘it was fun but let’s end, shall we?’ speech.

“Oh? Because it rather seems like you’ve been _not_ wanting to speak with me. Unless you Southerners have a different way of handling these things,” Dorian reflects. Inwardly, he winces. Good work sounding like a schoolboy with a crush.

“Ah.” The Inquisitor manages to convey doubt, guilt, and affection in the single syllable. “Yes. I’ve been busy, but that’s not quite the whole story. I... needed some time.”

“You certainly took it,” Dorian quips, but the blood is beating hard and loud in his ears.

Trevelyan’s brow furrows, and for a few minutes all that can be heard is the bustle of the evening crowd and Maryden’s singing. Finally, he speaks again, meeting Dorian’s grey-blue eyes with his own pale blue ones.

“I’ll be honest. I had a thousand reasons why I shouldn’t continue this. Being the Inquisitor and always having my attention demanded elsewhere. My family. _Your_ family. The world potentially being destroyed by an evil darkspawn magister,” Trevelyan pauses to place his free hand over Dorian’s, and Dorian’s heart threatens to tear itself out of his chest. “But most of all I wondered if I could give you what you need. What you deserve. And I decided even if I wasn’t sure I could... I would really, _really_ like to try. If you’d let me.”

The flicker of hope roars to life in his chest, brighter than dragon’s flame.

“You really do have a silver tongue on you, don’t you?” Dorian concludes, eyes locked on the hand that Trevelyan is covering with his own.

“You would know,” the Inquisitor replies with a smirk.

Dorian throws his head back and howls with laughter at that, the anxiety that plagued him starting to crumble. “This will work fantastically. The Herald of Andraste taking a very evil and very male Tevinter magister as his lover. Wonderful,” Dorian declares, shaking his head but smiling.

“Alex. You can call me Alex,” Trevelyan corrects, giving Dorian’s hand a small squeeze.

“Can I? Scandalous! Are you sure you don’t prefer Lord Inquisitor? Lord Herald Alexander Grayson Trevelyan of Ostwick? Can we work Inquisitor in there? The more names...”

Dorian’s list is interrupted by Trevelyan leaning in and pressing his lips against Dorian’s. Panic and delight war within Dorian until delight wins. He lets himself sink into the kiss, letting go of both his drink and Alex’s hand to wrap his arms around Alex’s neck. It is gentle and unassuming, the barest brush of tongue a promise of things to come.

“ _Now_ you’ve done it,” Dorian accuses as they part, an involuntary flush creeping up his neck as he feels the eyes of several patrons on them.

“Not yet, but if you come back with me to my quarters...” the Inquisitor offers.

“Why are we still here?”

\----------------

The first time Dorian came to the Inquisitor, it had been the sort of encounter he was used to. Urgent, fast, barely more than a fuck, although it had been what they both needed at the time. This time it seemed the Inquisitor was determined to prove his earlier words with his actions.

No sooner than they had reached the top of the stairs to the Inquisitor’s appointments, Trevelyan’s hands are at Dorian’s waist, pulling him close and nuzzling his face against the other man’s neck.

“I’m sorry it took me so long. I am an idiot,” the Inquisitor mouths in a low voice against Dorian’s ear, and the shiver it elicits goes straight down Dorian’s spine to his groin.

“You _are_ an idiot,” Dorian confirms, but his own hands run up and down the Inquisitor’s back. It is strange and wonderful to hold Trevelyan like this. Cautiously, Dorian’s lips find the Inquisitor’s hair and he gives it a few nervous kisses. He still has his clothes on - for now - but those kisses make him feel more exposed than he’s ever felt. He’s just done something that’s not allowed, except it is and it feels wonderful.

The Inquisitor laughs quietly and focuses his attention back on Dorian’s neck, lining it with feathery kisses. At an encouraging murmur from Dorian he deepens them, sucking on the sensitive skin there, ending each one with a controlled graze of teeth.

He makes his way to the corner of Dorian’s mouth and brushes his lips against it, grinning, then does the same to the other side. When Trevelyan finally brings his mouth to Dorian’s, the mage responds eagerly, parting his lips and welcoming the Inquisitor’s tongue, desperate to taste him. Dorian feels his body respond, groin aching as his cock grows hard and strains against his leathers.

As they come up for air, the Inquisitor pulls away slightly and starts undoing the fastenings of Dorian’s outfit, meeting his eyes and smiling. Carefully he peels away the layers of clothing, exposing the mage’s chest. Dorian helps him by taking off his bracers and gloves, then inhales sharply when Trevelyan sinks to his knees.

The Inquisitor looks up at Dorian from his kneeling position, the same dreamy smile on his face. Trevelyan is very nearly as tall as the mage, so even kneeling still places him level with Dorian’s taut stomach.

“I missed you. A lot,” Trevelyan confesses as his hands work at Dorian’s trousers and smalls, sliding them down so that not a stitch is left on the mage. Trevelyan runs his hands back up along the inside of Dorian’s legs, massaging his thighs when he reaches them.

Dorian hesitates for a moment, all of his past experience screaming against it, before reaching down and running a hand through Trevelyan’s hair. “I... missed you too. I was worried that, well, what you said before, that you had changed your mind. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Trevelyan’s hands come to a halt, resting on Dorian’s thighs, and he exhales sharply. “Dorian. Maker, no. I _do_ want more. I want us... whatever ‘us’ ends up being. I want you.”

A thousand responses are at the tip of Dorian’s tongue, but it’s too soon and too much to say most of them, his heart too guarded and tender.

“Show me,” Dorian orders, heart pounding in his chest at the audacity of the demand.

Trevelyan makes a low noise in his throat at the words and stands. He tears off his clothing so fast Dorian thinks for a brief moment that he used one of his Tempest potions, but no, it’s only human need and urgency.

Dorian only has a moment to enjoy the sight of Trevelyan naked in front of him. The Inquisitor bends and hooks one arm behind Dorian’s leg and one arm behind his back. When he straightens, he literally has swept Dorian off his feet. Dorian thankfully stifles his undignified shriek of surprise.

Trevelyan carries him to the bed and lays him down carefully before climbing into the bed as well, positioning himself on top of Dorian. He brings his mouth down to the mage’s in a crushing kiss, a clumsy but passionate meeting of teeth and tongue. Dorian returns the kiss with equal fervour, his hands finding the Inquisitor’s hair and burying his fingers in it, delighting in the sensation.

Trevelyan wastes no time now and reaches one hand underneath the pillow that Dorian’s head is resting on. He gropes for a moment before finding what he’s looking for and pulls out a small vial of clear liquid. Dorian’s cock twitches in anticipation even as his heart leaps into his throat.

Trevelyan sits up, straddling Dorian’s legs, long enough to thumb the top of the vial off and tip most of the contents into one hand. He sets the container aside and lays back down along the length of Dorian’s body, his left arm supporting his weight while the right reaches down.

“I want you,” Trevelyan repeats with his lips against Dorian’s ear as he gives the other man’s cock long, slow strokes with his slick hand. Dorian gasps, bucking his hips into Trevelyan’s touch. “I want you every morning, every night. You’re all I’ve thought about for weeks. You’re all I can think about ever.” Trevelyan pumps Dorian’s length a touch faster, increasing the pressure, and Dorian screws his eyes shut at the pleasure buzzing through his lower belly.

Trevelyan notices the mage’s reaction and slows again, lazy strokes, his thumb doing lazy half circles around the head of Dorian’s cock. “I want to make love to you until we’re both spent. I want you to stay the night afterward so we can do the same thing in the morning.” He lets his hand fall away from Dorian’s length and gently caresses his sack before venturing lower.

Trevelyan places a slick finger at Dorian’s entrance but pauses. The mage looks at the Inquisitor, pupils wide and cheeks flushed.

“I need you,” Dorian whispers, voice husky, and the words are the hardest things he’s ever said, but that’s all the permission Trevelyan needs. He slides a finger inside Dorian, stretching him. He nibbles on Dorian’s ear as he adds a second finger, gently scissoring them, breath coming quicker as Dorian moans in response, rocking his hips against Trevelyan’s fingers.

When Trevelyan finally adds a third finger, the small of Dorian’s back lifts off the bed, his cock glistening from the oil and rock hard. Dorian makes a noise that’s somewhere between a mewl and a growl and bites his lower lip.

“Please. I need you inside of me,” Dorian says again before he realizes he said it. Trevelyan nods and slowly removes his fingers from his lover. He sits up and reaches for the vial of oil and empties the rest into his hand. Trevelyan gives his hard length a few perfunctory strokes to make sure it’s covered in wetness.

He parts Dorian’s thighs gently and settles himself between them, supporting his weight with a hand on the bed by Dorian’s shoulder. The other hand is on his cock, guiding the head to Dorian’s entrance. Dorian meets Trevelyan’s gaze as he’s poised above him, about to enter him, and the intimacy of the moment threatens to overwhelm him.

And then he _does_ enter him, cock pressing past the tight ring of his entrance to fill his ass, and he doesn’t have coherent thought anymore, only sensation. The Inquisitor gives shallow, lazy thrusts at first, and Dorian is already panting underneath him, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

Trevelyan smiles at the sight, his own breath coming harder now, Dorian impossibly warm and tight around his cock. He forces himself to keep going slowly, starting to thrust deeper, encouraged by Dorian’s hips rising to meet his on every thrust.

“I love seeing you like this. Naked and gorgeous and full of me. I love so many things about you,” Trevelyan murmurs, hips rocking into Dorian, and Dorian groans in response. He reaches for Trevelyan’s shoulders, for anything to hold onto, and the Inquisitor lowers himself onto his forearms, bringing their bodies closer.

Dorian wraps his arms around the Inquisitor’s shoulders as his cock fills him over and over again, burying to the hilt on each thrust now. He’s literally trembling with desire in Trevelyan’s arms, sharp pleasure building in his lower abdomen, sack tightening.

“Ah, Alex, fuck, _f-fuck,_ ” Dorian gasps between thrusts, his fingers digging into the Inquisitor’s shoulders.

Trevelyan feels himself getting close to orgasm and pauses for a moment. It’s an effort to speak at this point but he does anyway. “I’m not going to leave you. I’m not going to use you and discard you. I am better than that. _You_ deserve better than that.” The Inquisitor angles his hips slightly upward when he continues, his cock sliding against that sweet spot inside Dorian each time he enters him. He reaches down the space between their bodies with his free hand and strokes Dorian’s cock in time with his thrusts.

Something in Dorian breaks when Trevelyan says those words, words he had been wanting to hear for so long. Tears, stinging and unwanted but there nonetheless, well up beneath his eyes and trickle down his cheeks. He buries his face in the crook of Trevelyan’s neck to hide them, but the Inquisitor feels them wet and insistent on his shoulder anyway.

Dorian unleashes a string of Tevene as his orgasm crests and overtakes him. He calls Trevelyan ‘ _amatus_ ’ for the first time, several times in a row, and he doesn’t care. The world has narrowed to the pleasure spiralling through his body. His come spills in ropes over his stomach and Trevelyan’s hand, sticky and hot and plentiful.

The sight of Dorian lost to his own pleasure is enough to make the Inquisitor follow him into orgasm. He throws his head back and groans loudly, sheathing his full length in his lover, his cock pulsing over and over inside Dorian, filling him with his come. Trevelyan, breathing hard, withdraws from Dorian after a few moments and collapses beside the mage.

Tears are still leaking from Dorian’s eyes as post-sex clarity settles in. The Inquisitor reaches a hand up and brushes them away, Dorian’s cheeks and Trevelyan’s fingers streaked with black from his kohl.

The Inquisitor smiles lackadaisically, appreciatively, thinking that this Dorian - face paint running and dishevelled hair falling in his eyes - is as handsome as the immaculate Tevinter Altus he’s grown to care for. Dorian can feel embarrassment threatening and moves to leave the bed, but the Inquisitor pulls him close and embraces him, stroking his hair softly.

“What did you call me, just now? _Amatus_?” the Inquisitor asks quietly, repeating the word as best he can. Dorian sniffs and scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, unsure if he should admit it.

“ _Amatus,_ " he repeats, hesitates, decides to continue, "Roughly, it means beloved,” the mage explains, suddenly grateful that the Inquisitor has him wrapped in his arms. Admitting it out loud makes him feel vulnerable and jubilant in equal parts.

“Thank you,” Alex responds quietly, sensing the gift he was just given, and Dorian’s heart could break all over again for all the right reasons.

The pair linger in the afterglow for a few more minutes before Dorian speaks again.

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll light your favourite bow on fire,” he threatens, but the smile that overtakes his face is shaky and tentative and beautiful.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

 

 


End file.
